


Trapped Like Ghosts

by sociologize



Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Angst, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-14
Updated: 2018-11-14
Packaged: 2019-08-23 11:40:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16618292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sociologize/pseuds/sociologize
Summary: It was easy to narrow down where someone would be, where they'd prefer to be, in the hours leading up to a show, no matter if it was a show on a Monday or a house show in the middle of Europe.And of course, it was easy to narrow down where one Dean Ambrose would be.(Set during the week following the November 5, 2018 episode of RAW)





	Trapped Like Ghosts

**Author's Note:**

> Barely edited, so please bear with me if you see any mistakes. I wrote this last week and made the mistake of sitting on it before a Monday happened.

Arenas weren't all that different from one another, no matter if they were in the states or halfway across the world.  They had their locker rooms and endless hallways, catering areas and dark corners and recesses, countless rooms and levels - they were all familiar.  Seth had been to this one a number of times now, and while he didn't know it as well as he would've liked to at that moment, he didn't have to do much exploring to figure out what this particular one had to offer; instead, all he had to do was take some time to watch the other superstars.  Watch which ones would skulk down the hallway to the preferred solitude of dark corners and empty rooms at the far back, to stairs that would lead to boiler rooms and other dank, dark rooms hidden below the main floors.

Places where he figured teams like AOP and their manager Maverick would go to record their next series of videos and - the thought made his heart twist, made anger spark briefly, hot fierce in his belly.  That was a loss that stung for all sorts of different reasons, reasons he still hadn't taken the time to look at too closely and probably wouldn't. Not while he still didn't have any definitive answers.

He watched as the girls wandered towards their chosen locker rooms and mingle in the hallways, the make-up and hair crews set up their endless tables and mirrors and lights; he watched the other guys linger all over the place, some with the girls and others in their own corners, buried in their phones or in a portable game or a book, while the rest were joking around, breaking the brief silences with laughter and yelling.  It was easy to narrow down where someone would be, where they'd prefer to be, in the hours leading up to a show, no matter if it was a show on a Monday or a house show in the middle of Europe.

And of course, it was easy to narrow down where one Dean Ambrose would be.

While Seth was a creature of habit, who had routines and plans that carried him through the day, Dean wasn't.  He was and he wasn't, that is; he may not have been lurking in a dark stairway somewhere, and he certainly wouldn't have claimed a locker room this early, deep in the back away from everyone else like they used to, but Seth still knew his habits just like he knew his own.  He knew where Dean would wander off to when he wanted to be alone, even here.

Finding the stairs to get to the upper levels of the building meant sneaking past security, but Seth was more than familiar with doing that.  It was easy, more than easy, an old habit he hadn't touched in years. When the Shield had recorded their promos in the darkest places they could find they'd sometimes sneak into places they weren't supposed to be in, rooms so deep in the bowels of the arena that no one could find them until they wanted to be found.  It had almost been a game, to see what they could find in the little time they had and what inevitably made it into the videos themselves, giving away what they'd been up to and if any of the people in charge ever caught on to their little acts of defiance outside of the ring.

This wasn't the first time he'd sought out Dean, but this was the first time in the last few weeks it wasn't in the heat of the moment.  When his anger and his hurt and his guilt weren't trying to consume him whole and the only thing he could think was a single question, a single word.  Monday had been the last time he'd tried; after the cameras had caught him after losing the tag titles and after Dean had left him lying in the ring.

He'd tried, _tried_ to find Dean, but he'd been too messed up, too emotional to look too hard, his head and his neck and his heart too much of a painful throb for him to spend too much time searching before he gave up.  He could feel it stirring now, too, that itch beneath his skin, but rather than let it rise up like he had been doing, he carefully, calmly pushed it down. He had to keep himself calm, _wanted_ to keep himself calm.  He wasn't looking for a fight right now, and he wanted to avoid it if he could.  He didn't want to fight. Not until he had to.

It was one thing out in front of a crowd or with the cameras rolling and everyone at home watching.  It was another when it came to moments like this, when it was just him and Dean and a giant, empty floor.

His decision to head up to the top level, full of strange, empty storage rooms and stairways leading to the roof access was the right call because as he opened the door and quietly stepped through he could see Dean, sat against the wall with one leg stretched out and one drawn up, smoking.  Seth wasn't surprised to see he'd picked up that particular habit again, given everything.

With a sigh, Seth let the door fall shut behind him and took a few steps further into the hallway, the sound of his shoes and the door closing echoing loudly throughout.  He could be quiet about it, he could sneak up on Dean to guarantee a few, precious seconds with him, but that . . . didn't feel right. He wanted more than that, and if Dean didn't want to give it to him, he couldn't just take it.  He wouldn't, even if a part of him practically screamed at him to do it anyway.

He watched Dean startle, jerk his head in his direction and squint through the poor lighting at Seth.  The emotions that played over his face were almost too quick for Seth to follow - surprise, anger, suspicion - before it all shut down almost as quickly as they flew by, shut down into something more closed off and neural.  Dean let his head thunk back against the wall and took a long drag from his cigarette, and didn't say a word.

But that was something, at least, and Seth took those few, careful steps closer.  Took a seat a few feet across from Dean to lean against a pillar, putting some distance between them - just in case.

Now that he was here, though, he . . . had no idea why he was.  All he knew upon waking up that morning that he wanted to find Dean, and at first it had been to get an answer to the question that had been plaguing him ever since Dean had stabbed him in the back, but - that wasn't it right now.  That question usually burned in his mind whenever they were in the ring, burned in his throat and tore its way out whenever the chance came to voice it, scream it, plead it, and yet right now . . . it wasn't there. He had no compulsion to yell or plead or beg at all.

Dean was the one who broke the silence between them first; Seth lifted his head and frowned at Dean, who was regarding him with a wary, suspicious expression, tensed and alert like he expected Seth to jump at him at any moment.  "Why are you here?"

Seth answered with a shrug and, at Dean's incredulous look his lips quirked in a lopsided smile, self-deprecating and guilty.  "I woke up this morning and wanted to see you. Pretty pathetic, right?"

"You'll see me later."  Dean stared him down before he turned his attention to his cigarette, stubbing out the half-finished butt on the ground and tucking the rest of it away in his jacket.  It was the only time he took his eyes off Seth. "You itching for a fight that bad?"

"I'm not here to fight."  Seth said quickly, in case Dean didn't believe him and decided to attack first, take him out here so there wouldn't be any reason to deal with him later.  It wasn't Dean's style, not really, but given everything lately, who knew what Dean was capable of anymore. "I'm not, that's not why I - that's not why I came up here."

Something in Dean's expression changed, so subtle that Seth would have missed it if he hadn't been looking.  If he didn't know literally everything there was to know about Dean Ambrose. "Then why?" Dean's voice was calmer this time, less dangerous, but still wary.  

A part of Seth noted the irony of this, of Dean asking _him_ why.  He wanted to withhold the answer, just like Dean was withholding answers from him.  A part of him wanted to be petty, wanted to be mean and nasty and spit fire, it wanted to reach down deep, into the darkest pit of his soul and pull out the parts he thought he'd buried so deeply that he'd never be able to put that face on again.  

But he didn't.  He wouldn't. Whatever answer Dean had for him, even now, Seth knew part of it was somehow his fault.  He had no room to be petty - no, he didn't _deserve_ to be petty.  He didn't _want_ to be petty, when in between the anger and the fire in Dean's eyes he could see so much more than that, things that hurt to look at, things that matched all the pain he felt in his own heart.  

It's seeing that, up close, that made him answer honestly.  "Because I miss you." As much as he wanted to look away, as much as he wanted to look away at the way Dean's lip curled and the disgusted noise he made, he didn't.  In some way, in Seth's mind, he deserved that too.

"The fuck you do.  Don't lie to me."

"I'm not."  Seth didn't raise his voice, keeping it calm, even.  It was an effort to not shout the words in Dean's face until the words echoed all over the arena, echoed enough that maybe they'd start echoing through Dean's head, too, so he couldn't deny them anymore.  But he knew that wouldn't work. He didn't want to get angry, regardless. He didn't have it in him to get angry at that moment.

"You miss having someone in your corner to clean up your messes."  Dean shot back, knowing it would sting. Knowing Seth would wince, even if Seth was expecting it.  "You miss being a double champ, you don't -"

"I didn't say anything about wrestling."  Seth couldn't help the little bit of heat that slipped into his voice as he leaned forward, hands against the cool floor.  "I'm not talking about any of that. I'm talking about - things like right now, or - grabbing lunch and eating on the road and listening to your shitty music in the car.  I miss - waking up next to you, late, because you turned off my alarm again." His voice softened, barely a whisper, but enough to carry between them. "I miss just talking to you, for hours, about nothing.  I miss my _brother_.  I miss _you_ , Dean."

He was proud of himself that his voice didn't waiver or crack, that he managed to get all of that out without breaking.  That he'd managed to get all of that out as calmly as he did was a miracle, that he'd said the words, rather than pleading them.  He could feel his eyes stinging and he sucked in a silent breath to hold it back.

Dean looked struck, like the words had been a physical blow.  Maybe he was expecting Seth to lie, or he'd forgotten that Seth had promised he was done lying, and Seth watched another play of emotions dart across his face.  Distrust, confusion, hurt, _so much hurt_ \- this Dean was a different creature from the one Seth was so familiar with but sometimes he slipped into his old habits.  Seth watched as he lifted a hand, nervous fingers moving to tap at his collarbone, and he had to resist the urge to reach out and still his hand.  He'd done it so many times last year, done it a few this year, but now - all he was allowed to do was watch.

"You can't - " Dean stopped, started, and swallowed hard.  He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, as though he was steeling himself.  He did that a lot, Seth noticed. Seth did it too. "You think telling me all that is gonna change anything?  Gonna change anything between us?"

The words bring a memory to mind of years past, of two hands grabbing his face and telling him, loud enough for the cameras pick up, thick with emotion and the beginning of tears, _I love you_.  Of Dean's broken expression and the feel of his boot on the back of his neck and the promise of his own Curb Stomp used against him.

And he remembered, just as clearly as he remembered Dean's expression, how even those words hadn't been enough to change a damn thing.  Not for him then. And if he said those words to Dean . . .not for him now.

They're trapped.  Trapped like ghosts, doomed to repeat their mistakes, stuck in a punishing routine of hurting one another and the only difference was who held the knife and who got stabbed in the back.  Who took the extra step and who, down the line, was the one who begged for forgiveness.

"I know it won't."  Seth had to look away, down at his hands tangled in his lap, clenched so tightly together that his knuckles were bright white.  "But you asked, so I answered."

Dean's only response was a grunt.  A moment passed, and Dean pushed himself to his feet, dusting off his pants and straightening his jacket before he glanced back down at Seth - a brief look, before his eyes are everywhere but.  "For what it's worth," Dean trailed off, and Seth glanced up, tried to meet his eyes but Dean wouldn't look at him. "I miss you, too. But we can't be that anymore."

Before he could realize he was moving Seth was on his feet, and as Dean turned to him, defensive and prepared for an attack, Seth had his hands clenched in the front of his jacket.

Dean didn't fight as Seth dragged him close, far too close for something that could be mistaken for an attack.  He just held him there, hands tight and shaking, desperate to keep him there for a few more precious seconds. Before the two of them had to go back, to reality and to Dean's lack of answers and Seth's desperate pleas for answers.  Where Dean was leaving him no choice but to fight back.

"I'll haunt you."  The words slipped out of his mouth, so quiet and so breathless that he wasn't sure he spoke them at all, not until Dean's eyes widened and something in his expression shifted.  The words were chosen carefully for all that they spilled out by accident, a mix of Seth's thoughts and something Dean had said to him, once. Seth remembered all of it, every single thing Dean had ever shouted at him, spoken to him, threatened him with, promises and threats of pain and neverending torment.  He remembered every single one, but all Seth could think was that they were ghosts and that one line was apt, that of all the things he remembered that one line was the clearest

A hint of a smirk appeared on Dean's face, so faint that Seth couldn't tell if it was real or not.  "Yeah? Stealing lines from me now?"

And wouldn't that be ironic, turning Dean's words against him.  Tempting, it was _so tempting_ , but that didn't fit, not the right way.  Like a mix of puzzles scattered across the floor where not all the pieces fit, some missing or too big or too small.  Only some of it fit together, even if Seth knew where all the pieces went. Even if he remembered everything, not all of it fit him or _them_ , as they were now.  Because they weren't those people anymore.

"I might."  Seth said instead, his hands tightening, drawing Dean just a little closer.  Dean didn't resist. "No matter what happens - whatever we end up putting each other through, whatever you do to me - "  Because he knew, _knew_ , that Dean was going to hurt him, with words, in actions, in any way he could, worse than he had been, worse than maybe he ever had.  "I'm fighting _for_ you.  If it means fighting against you - then so be it.  But it's always for you." The words ended up dying in his throat and Seth swallowed the lump they left behind.  "Until I don't have to anymore."

Dean winced, eyes shutting tightly like he was in pain, and when his hands find Seth's wrists they're shaking, just like his are.  Shaking so much Seth wondered if they'd shake him apart, too. "Do what you have to, Seth." His voice was oddly quiet, calm, at odds with how tight his grip had become.  He met Seth's eyes and they're so blue Seth wanted to lose himself in them, one more time.

Dean loosened his hold and squeezed his wrists, once, and it's the gentlest Dean's been with him in weeks.  "Haunt me."

The door shutting behind Dean is painfully loud in the silence of the hall and in Seth's ears, echoing for what felt like forever.  Almost as long as the forever he spent staring at the door, long after Dean was gone, off to find another place to lay low until the show started.

They were trapped like ghosts, repeating the same mistakes again, but just like ghosts there was always something left unfinished between them, something that would be left undiscovered until the cycle started anew.  Until the knife switched hands. Until forgiveness was the only thing left to give and take.

Maybe this time.  Maybe this time they'd resolve it all, once the fighting stopped. 


End file.
